She Counted
by Call it Maglc
Summary: Molly Hooper didn't think she really counted. She was just... Molly. But Sherlock has other ideas, and needs to take his confidence into someone he can really trust. Someone that HE thinks counts. Sherlock/Molly. One-shot for now. May be continued.


_** She Counted**_

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><p>If there was one thing Molly Hooper would change about yesterday, she would have been braver. She was brave enough to speak her thoughts to Sherlock, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Molly brought a hand to her forehead with a sigh, her palm sliding down the side of her face. If only she didn't get so tongue-tied in front of him! She could name and recognize more chemicals from memory than there were contacts in her cell phone. Granted, she only really communicated with a choice fifteen of them out the the hundred-some. But still, Molly knew she was smart. Only Sherlock Holmes made her feel like a complete idiot.<p>

Molly sighed again, replaying the look on his face from earlier in her head. He had seemed to actually listen for once... but maybe it was just what she wanted to think. Molly didn't know what the hell was going on any more, really. So with a little huff of breath, Molly stood up from her chair where she had been sitting for a good five minutes, just thinking. Her shift was over, it had _been_ over for half an hour. Molly was pretty sure she was one of the last people in the building. The thought didn't really scare her any more, as it used to. She felt like the boss, closing up shop. She just wanted to get some work done, that's why she'd stayed until 12:34 AM. It had proven for nothing, and Molly had her sights on heading home, changing into some very comfy sweatpants, and falling asleep to some TV show she didn't care about. Somewhere in there, she might fit fixing a late night snack or coaxing Toby to come sit on her lap as she readied herself for bed, but she had the basics down for the moment.

So with that, Molly pulled off her lab coat and hung it up, snatching her normal sweater in place. She pulled it on and switched off the main light. She walked towards the door, the light from the hallway glowing, the window turning it an odd, warm colour, like a bright full moon. Molly fumbled with her keyring as she attempted to find the right key. Right as she set eyes and recognized the smaller one to be what she was looking for, she was scared half out of her wits by a dark, deep voice from seemingly nowhere.

"You're wrong, you know," came the voice. Molly gasped and whipped her head around. She felt blood rush to her head and her heart pound a bit faster. Someone was still here? In her panic, she searched for the source. In a sudden rush of memory, she matched it up as Sherlock's voice. She concluded this by settling her eyes on his dimly lit figure, sitting atop a chair seated at a desk. He looked as slim and elegant as ever, and his head was turned towards whatever was on the desk, not to her. How long had he been there?

"You do count. You've always counted, and I've always trusted you," he said, the dark clarity of his voice echoing just slightly in the little room. Molly's mind was racing, but couldn't think of anything. It was a very odd sensation, and she could only gape like a deer in headlights, still a bit shaken by his sudden appearance. She began comprehending his words, a bit slowly, but surely. Wait... was she comprehending these words correctly? "But you were right," he said, and turned his head, his eyes resting on Molly. She felt herself freeze up even more. His icy eyes weren't piercing, like normal. No, it must be a trick of the eerie light, Molly thought. That's why he looked almost pitiful. Almost sorry.

"I'm not okay." Molly had known that he wasn't, but his confession of it was what surprised her the most. Sherlock Holmes, man of steel, was confessing his feelings. The Sherlock she knew would never have even thought of such a thing, would have considered himself weak for doing something like that.

After a moment of foolish staring, Molly said, "Tell me what's wrong." She was a bit surprised at her own strong tone of voice. Did she just say something with confidence in front of Sherlock? She might've smiled if it wasn't for his grave tone of voice, or the strangeness of this encounter.

"Molly..." he began, and stood up from the chair, the legs making a small scraping noise as the chair was pushed back. Sherlock began walking closer to her. Oh, goodness, he was coming close. Molly felt her little heart pattering, but made no indication of her excitement. She thought she was wearing a poker face, but wasn't quite sure. "I think I'm going to die."

The words hit her like a brick, but she kept her face straight. _Play it cool, Molly Hooper,_ one part of her thought. The other part only screamed in horror. Die? Sherlock was always so confident, so correct. If he was correct about this, she couldn't imagine what would happen. "What do you need?" she said, her voice still strangely strong.

Sherlock drew ever closer. "If I wasn't everything that you think I am," he began to say slowly. "Everything that _I _think I am. Would you still want to help me?" Molly stared into the icy orbs that were his eyes. They were wet, she could see. Had Sherlock been... crying? _Oh my God, _Molly wanted to say. _Oh my God, Sherlock. Please, what's going on? Of course I'd help you! I'd help you to the ends of the earth if I had to!_

But Molly remained cool. "What do you need?" she repeated. The next moment, Sherlock's body drew within thirty centimetres of hers. Molly's heart began beating at a rapid pace as he leaned down, closer to her height now. His face came up to around fifteen centimetres from hers. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to her, excepting the one time during the Christmas party when he had kissed her cheek. But Molly didn't count that. This... this was much closer. She was able to look into his ice blue eyes, which she now thought might've had a shade of minty green to it. Just a hint a green in a sea of ice. Why did she always think of ice when she saw those eyes? Was it because he was always so cold towards her? He certainly wasn't now, and it was making Molly's body feel warm. At least it was making her cheeks warm. They felt like she was drawing closer to an open oven. And as Molly stared into his eyes, she was sure that he was looking back. Straight into her own, dark brown shaded eyes. For the first time in Molly's life, she saw Sherlock. Not the cool, collected detective who always knew the truth and was always so sure of himself. This wasn't Mister Holmes. No... this was Sherlock. And he was scared. She watched his lips part as he spoke one soft word in a broken voice.

"You."

Molly couldn't have believed that one little word could have such a huge impact on her. Damn the cool act, she subconsciously decided, and she took a little inward gasp. Sherlock's gaze didn't falter, even in this moment of distress. Molly felt her hands shaking and she willed to not make a fool of herself; Again. Eventually, after Molly's mouth had opened and closed a few times, wordlessly, she spoke softly.

"Sh-Sh-Sherlock-" she began, but not before Sherlock could close the fifteen centimetre distance between their faces to something like zero. Molly's eyes widened immensely as her brain tried to comprehend the fact that Sherlock Holmes was kissing her. Her body became even more frozen than before, and she suddenly felt nothing. Nothing but his lips. Those lips that she'd stared at so many times, that spoke such brilliant and awful words, that she'd visualize she'd one day touch, that were actually touching her own. It was everything and nothing like she thought it might be.

And yet, it lasted only five seconds.

Sherlock quickly pulled his head back upright, his own eyes a little wide. Molly could only stare up at him, and she could hear herself breathing. Sherlock was breathing a bit louder than normal too, but still stared at Molly. A flood of emotions ran through her. Victory, joy, the urge to scream, love, surprise, terror, confusion, and embarrassment ran through her all at once. But... Sherlock would use her. This kind of thing had happened before. Not nearly on such a massive scale, though! He'd never gone quite this far before, just to get what he wanted. And he had looked so sincerely truthful! That sadness in his face couldn't have been acting! Her once warm cheeks were on fire, and were surely glowing at least a dark crimson shade.

"You're the only one that can help me," he breathed softly, his face once again at the fifteen centimetre distance, as if the impossible hadn't just occurred. Molly wasn't sure what to feel.

"T-Tell me what's happened," she said softly, trying very hard not to collapse to the ground.

"It's not what has happened, it's what will," he said, his broken voice mending itself just a little.

"Please... just tell me. I...I can help," Molly said, her own voice regaining itself from the shock.

"Molly, I'm going to kill myself."

Molly's eyes widened again with shock. She found her voice completely regained as she almost immediately screamed, "No!" She felt her heart beat quickly for a second and listened to her voice ring through the echoing room before she spoke again. "You-you can't just... I mean. What? It's just that- How could you... you can't! H-how..." she began to stutter again. Sherlock was kind enough to interrupt her.

"I mean that I'm going to fake my death. And I need your help to do it," he cut in as Molly shut her trap.

"You... you're going to fake your... death?" she questioned.

"He's limited me down to this as my only option. I've got three theories about what he's going to do, and all of them point to me having to fake my suicide," he said, a bit more like the Sherlock Holmes Molly knew. She knew exactly who 'he' was, and dared not question what exactly Sherlock's theories were. So Molly put on a brave face and exhaled through her nose

"What can I do to help?"

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><p>Molly arrived home roughly at 6:32 AM. Before she even went near her bed, she phoned St. Barts to call in sick. If she so much as saw her bed, she might jump straight into it without giving a second thought to anything else. Her tired voice was enough to convince the office, and they only wished she'd get well soon. As soon as Molly clicked the 'End Call' button, she tossed the phone down onto the counter and stumbled into the closet, a sleep deprived zombie. She only half remembered getting out of her day clothes and slipping into her nightwear.<p>

For nearly six hours, Sherlock and Molly had talked. Sherlock told her what he had of his plan, and they had built off it. He told her of his feigned suicide that he would preform, which she thought was genius. Then they spoke of the aftermath; Of what would happen to Sherlock after his final performance. He voiced his idea, that he would stay at Molly's house until his name died down a bit, and it would be safe to make a reappearance without Moriarty or his men causing a fuss. Molly, of course, had blushed a bit at this idea, but quickly agreed to it, and they began working some minute details out. Molly didn't bring up the kiss again, and neither did he. She supposed there was little reason to bring it up, and there would be plenty of time later to discuss that. Right now, there were lives at stake.

Molly would, of course, have to wake up in a few hours to tidy the house and make it perfectly presentable, let alone liveable, for Sherlock. Oh, bother. She would be the only person in the nation, the world, who knew that Sherlock was still alive. She hoped that Moriarty wouldn't reign too much chaos while Sherlock took his hiatus. She secretly believed that there was a 10% chance of Sherlock's plan backfiring, but tried to stay positive. It was hard to stay positive when you're dead tired, though.

Toby meowed at Molly as she dragged herself to her room. "Hush, Tobias," she murmured as she flopped into bed, glad that the curtains were drawn closed, and that the sun rose of the other side of her house. There were very big things that happened, were happening and were about to happen, but right now, Molly Hooper was in desperate need of a good two hour's sleep before her life changed forever. She drifted off with a slight smile, knowing that to him, she counted.

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><p><em><strong>I'm not dead guys! I had a massive case of writer's block, but I'm back and better than ever! Although Moffat's ending KILLED me, his Molly scenes make up for every and any thing that he's ever put me through. Anywho, I'm not sure whether or not I'm going to continue this. Alert it, just in case. :P Thanks!<strong>_

_**Best Wishes,**_

_**Aktress.**_


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